Roman: Book 1 (26 page)

It’s only when I am close enough to him that I see the blood splattered across the front of his rumpled shirt, unbuttoned to his chest. His hair is spiked from his fingers running through it like they are this moment, his face unshaven with dark lines bracketing his mouth and circles around his eyes. “Sit.” He growls and out of self-preservation and in an effort to keep Winter from waking, I silently do as I’m told.

He circles where I sit for several silent minutes before opening a folder that went unnoticed until now and begins slamming down pictures of his twelve.

“This why you came into my life, little mouse? These women, are they why you decided to seek me out? Show me love? Save me? Huh? You wanted to save me from myself, Heather? Is that it?”

I shake my head and keep my eyes on the pictures of the twelve women who would still be alive today, if not for Roman.

“You knew what kind of man owned the hands you were putting your life into, yet still, you chose to do so. Was it one girl in particular I killed that made you choose to, or the whole dozen? I know, it was your need to become the thirteenth, wasn’t it?”

I flinch letting a yelp escape when he slams down a horrified picture of a naked woman covered in cuts and gashes bleeding out on a bed with cable ties tied so tightly around her neck her eyes bulge and her blue lips contrast starkly against the white sheets.

“Number thirteen. Does
THAT
make you love me?!”

I’m left starring at the picture grappling for words as he towers over me, snatches the photo up and smashes it into my face before screaming and slamming it back onto the table, “
DOES IT
?!” He roars.

“
NO
!” My eyes clench closed as the word is torn from my throat.

“
Fucking LIAR
!” Boom. His hand hits the table again.

When my eyes look down to where his hand is he reveals another picture. This one of a brunette woman strung up from a ceiling fan by her neck with cable ties. Knife carvings in the shape of crescent moons run from her thighs to where the binds are cutting into the skin around her neck. “How about her? Do you love me because of my handy work on number fourteen?!”

Bile rises in my throat and I choke out, “
NO
!”

“
LIAR
!” Boom. His hand hits the table again but my eyes remain clenched.

“What about number fifteen? She wasn’t as in to it at as the first two girls, she put up a little bit of a fight.
LOOK
at them, mouse!
LOOK!”

Every picture of every girl is worse than the last.

My heart breaks for them. Every single one of them. My heart breaks for their lives lost, for their families’ loss. My heart breaks because I could have done something to stop this. Instead I did nothing but turn a blind eye and foolishly hope I would be woman enough to keep him from doing this. That at thirteen, I would be able to show him enough love, give him enough happiness, be enough.

I never was.

Boom. “Number nineteen, now she begged for it, the entire time. Pleaded with me to end it. I almost didn’t grant her the death she wanted so, but in the end, she was a loose end. And we all need to make sure those are tied up, don’t you think?”

I cannot even see facial landmarks or determine the poor girl’s race, she is nothing but a matted mess of hair and blood.

“Does this make you love me?!” He roars, spittle flying from his lips inches from my face, heaving breaths in between his clenched teeth.

“
NO
!” My sobs have become overwhelming, as I shriek in pain and agony of what my life has become.

In desperation to make it all go away when his hand slams into the table the twentieth time with the twentieth picture in his fist I lie when he demands, “Is it number twenty? Honestly all I remember is waking up soaked in her blood with the taste of scotch choking me. Is she the reason you love me, mouse?! Is she fucking why?!”

“
YES
!” I sob.
Yes, goddammit!”

“You’re a fucking LIAR!”

And then…my world went dark.

I died the day Heather did.

The downward spiral my life has consisted of is chaos and carnage. The copious amounts of alcohol I consume on a daily basis is as much a catalyst to desecrating havoc I leave in my wake as it is a cure, a balm to ease the ache I refuse to acknowledge exists with in me.

I will admit that I never truly meant to let you down, but what do you expect from a man who has always been hell bound?

None of that matters anymore though. Not with my Heather now gone. The thought alone spins me into a pitch black hole so dark it suffocates, a place much darker than I’ve ever been for.

I’ve become careless and reckless in my self-deprecating destruction, I’m at the point where I want them to apprehend me. Andrew has stopped me from leaving the house soaked to the skin and covered from head to toe in my latest victims blood countless occasions.

I want the world to see me for what I truly am.

Sadist.

Motherfucker.

Murderer.

Monster.

Lucifer’s Belial himself relishing in his self made hell on Earth.

When will you realize some men cannot be reached…

You think you hated the man I was before?

I am bête noire, the Black Beast.

I do not pray to any God, I pray to myself… For myself.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Amanda Harrison, Trina Taylor, and Kylie Sharp thank you, thank you, thank you for taking care of me! Lord knows I can’t take care of myself.

To Robin, Dolores, and Jennifer, thank you so much for being there for me when I was at my lowest. You didn’t have to be there, but you were and I’ll always remember that.

Kimber’s Bitches, THANK YOU! There is no damn way in hell I could have made it through Wesley’s story without each and every one of you badass bitches! XOXO

Lauryn, Meg, and B, y’all are my reason for living, my reason for breathing, and if weren’t for you three, I would have lived my life like a woman gone mad. You are each sweet blessings that I could never live without, and I love each of you so very much in your own specialness.

Momma and Daddy, I know I am the least conventional kid to have and also the hardest daughter to love, However, ONE DAY, I WILL make you both proud. Thank you so much for giving Bobby and me the wonderful and loving family we grew up in. Momma, thank you for raising me to be strong and to never back down. But most of all, thank you, Momma, for being my greatest friend. Daddy, thank you so much for being the best daddy in the whole wide world. I’ll always be Daddy’s girl first, even when I’m a hundred years old. I love you both so much and pray that I can make y’all proud. *Psst... Momma, don’t let Daddy read any of my books—the acknowledgments ONLY!!!!*

Author Bio

I was born and raised in Louisiana… and No, I do NOT live in a bayou, I actually see the beaches on the gulf coast more than I see a bayou, lol. I started writing poems and short stories very early in my life. You know, for the Michael’s and Leo’s and Nick’s in my life. I've been a book hoarder since I was eleven years old, but then a couple years ago something wonderful happened! The 50 Shades of Grey craze brought to life my inner smut whore and I commenced to read anything and everything smut affiliated. When reading wasn't enough anymore and I noticed that so many of the authors of my favorite indie authors and their books weren't getting the exposure their work deserved, I turned it into a mission, starting my own blog, buying their books and reading them one by one. I then wrote my reviews for my blog and didn't hold back in writing them (Hell yeah those motherfuckers are profanity laden). I've never done a single thing in my life halfway. I always go all in. After the success of my Blog, and the insistence of one of my bestest friends, my sister from another mister, Trina Taylor of Bad & Dirty Books, I was ready to finally take the plunge and see if I could write a book that was worth a damn. I'm a Southern girl to my core, a self-proclaimed smut whore, and I keep hearing that I’m an author, but honestly… I don’t believe the rumors, lol. I don’t feel like a kickass bitch spittin’ out lyrics, or stories, like a motherfuckin’ rockstar.

Tattooed across my ribs are the words I have always lived by: 'Aut viam inveniam aut faciam tibi.' Latin for: If I cannot find a way, I will make my own.